


Enide and Her Knights

by secace



Category: Arthurian Literature - Fandom, Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, Gen, and lancelot is there i guess, because I like him, its like a medieval girl gang, lady knight murder squad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23370334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secace/pseuds/secace
Summary: Enide, Isolde, Elaine, Brangaine and Clarissant are out to set things right.
Relationships: Elaine of Astolat/Iseult of the White Hands
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

“What about Pelleas? My brother says he was a total creep to poor Ettarde,” Clarissant said, slouching in her chair and tossing an apple back and forth from hand to hand.

Enide snapped her fingers, “add him to the list!”

Isolde, who people outside their little circle called Isolde Blanchmains, added the man’s name to the large parchment pinned to the wall in her lovely, looping handwriting. 

“Read it off, would you?” Enide asked. She was the unofficial leader of their little band, having found them one by one and gathered them together after she left her shithole husband.

“Eric, Tristan, Mark, Kahedin, Pellinore, Gromer Somer Jour, Malegaunt, Guiromelant, Pelleas,” Isolde recited, voice as quick and cold as clear water.

Clarissant frowned and sunk lower in her chair, “I fear we have to add my brother, for he is a cad and deserves roughing up.”

“I thought you adored your brother,” questioned Enide, “he’s all you ever talk about.”

“Her other brother,” Brangaine clarified in her thick sing-songy Irish accent, “She ’as five.”

“Good lord. Name?”

“Agravaine.”

Isolde added him to the list then put the dip pen into the ink bottle and sat down next to the Lady Elaine of Shalott on the piles on cushions scattered about the room, “You sure about Lancelot, sweet? It’s no trouble to add him, I’m sure.”

Elaine shook her head. She did not speak often, but her fingers moved quickly in her lap, still set on weaving but without any thread. Isolde turned a bit and offered her hair, which those nervous fingers set happily to braiding.

“Anyone else?” Enide asked, surveying the parchment.

They were thoughtful a moment, the only sound was the crunching of Ygraines cookies being eaten as the ladies mulled over their hit list.

“Can always add more of ’em later,” Brangaine concluded finally.

Enide nodded. She surveyed the room, lit only by firelight, as the sun had gone down hours ago. It was a cosy room, walls lined with tapestries and cushions and pillows strewn haphazardly among the high backed chairs and low tables, littered with the remains of the evenings snacks and plans- plates and cups and maps and scratch paper, spilt ink and spilt drinks next to low flickering candles. It was the largest, nicest room in Clarrisants little keep, her paltry bastards inheritance which she fought continuously to keep her mother out of and her grandmother in.

“Then we leave tomorrow, bright and early,” she turned to Clarissant, “You truly think the Lady of the Lake will help us?”

She nodded, “Oh, yes I’m certain, my brother said that-”

There was a collective groan, cutting her off. Enide pointed meaningfully at the second parchment, hung next to the first. It read, ’Daily Gawain Mentions’ followed by several crossed out scribbles, three x’s and a line. Enide silently walked over and added a second line.

“Thirty-two.”

Clarissant was undaunted, and took a bite of her apple, not looking at the rest of them.

Enide shook her head and brushed it off as teenage rebellion. Clarrisant was the youngest of them by far at seventeen and from the savage north besides, so she supposed expecting the girl to be dignified was hopeless. 

Besides, she mused as the ladies wandered off to various beds, leaving her sitting alone in the casement looking out on the darkening landscape, that was the point of the whole thing, wasn’t it? That they did not have to be dignified ladies or follow outside orders?

Enide brushed off Brangaines chiding about getting enough sleep, and soon she was the only one left in the room. She set to neatening, humming while she worked, or talking to herself when her poor memory for music failed her, for the joy of having no one able to stop her. When the most egregious areas of the mess had been dealt with, she made a nest of blankets and pillows and curled up by the window, so the stars could watch over her dreams and the sun could take her from them again, as soon at dawns fingers touched the night sky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They set out and meet a knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for a brief discussion of past rape this chapter because. elaine of corbenic.

Ygraine saw them off early that morning, having had their saddlebags packed with food and supplies with her usual caring efficiency, waving at them till they rode over the horizon.

She had supplied them for every eventuality she could think, and thought of every accommodation; several changes of chemises for Clarissant, who had a talent for locating mud, spilling drinks and otherwise finding ways to acquire new and interesting stains, a bag of honey drop candies for Enide, whose throat was frequently sore, unused to her hatred of silence, a spare pair of shoes for Brangaine, who was always on her feet and wearing through the leather of her boots, black gloves for Isolde, and a curious beaded puzzle bracelet for Elaine, to occupy her hands.

Clarissant was sure they were going the right direction, in the morning. By afternoon she was fairly sure, and by early evening when they stopped to make camp she was looking a bit sheepish.

“I’ve heard conflicting reports, is all. I’m starting to think there are multiple ladies of the lake, to be in so many places at once, “ she admitted, tying her horse to a tree next to Enide, who tried not to sigh impatiently.

“Fuck,” Isolde said, looking out over the road. A knight was riding down the path, helmeted, with a blank shield. But Elaine touched her shoulder, to get her attention, and said something to her, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

“Fuck,” Isolde said again, but in a more resigned way.

“There are other words, Isolde,” Clarissant said, titchy about having lost an entire lake. 

“How’s this? Brat.”

The knight saw them, and stopped his horse, but did not leave the road to join them. He seemed to be dithering.

Enide interrupted the good-natured bickering to ask Isolde who the knight was, and she rolled her eyes.

“Bon chevalier mal fet.”

“Wait, that’s self-contradictory,” Clarissant said, as the knight finally made a decision and turned his horse off the road, riding to them at a slow walk.

“So is he, from what I’ve heard.”

He did not remove his helmet or dismount, stopping a few good paces away from the group.

“Um- are you all- are you all alright?”

His voice was tentative and didn’t carry well, painted with an accent that wasn’t quite identifiable. 

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

He thought for a moment. It had seemed like the knightly thing to do to see if the group of mysterious women needed help, but at the moment he didn’t quite recall why that should be so.

“This is a sort of dangerous country, is all, my lady, and I wondered what your purpose was in it. Uh, not that its any of my business,” he added, feeling as if he was giving offence and not sure how to stop.

Enide was about to answer that no, it wasn’t any of his business, when Elaine stopped her.

“We need your help, really, Sir Lancelot,” she said, her voice rough from the damage the water had done to her throat. 

Brangaine sighed heavily at that name, but didn’t say anything. Neither did he for a moment, then in an almost clumsy rush, he dismounted and knelt on the ground, roughly in front of her, wet leaves crunching under the heavy plate of his burnished red armour. 

He stumbled over something like an apology, and she stumbled over something like an acceptance of that apology, Isolde cutting the back and forth short after a few increasingly jumbled iterations and telling him to get up, for god’s sake, which he did, though he did not immediately remove his helmet. 

Braingaine insisted he did, and then insisted he stay with them and allow himself to be fed, to make up for the first request. He did, reluctantly, accede to both, leaving his helmet with his unhappy-looking horse. He looked younger than they had expected; Elaine was the only one who had met him before, and maybe Brangaine, but she kept her thoughts to herself. His face was cleanshaven, more pretty than handsome, and fixed with a seemingly permanent expression of embarrassed confusion. 

Enide quickly banned him from helping set up camp after it became apparent he was far more in the way than helpful, and he was banished to gather firewood with Clarissant, whose talents lay more in breaking things than setting them up. She spent the whole time asking after her brother, which he forbear patiently, always happier talking about his friends than his own deeds, which was usually what people wanted to hear, which was why he was riding down the road alone with his helmet on and shield plain white.

When the camp was assembled, a fire built and all of them settled around it, Enide returned to the matter at hand. Shed had a rushed conversation with Isolde and Elaine and was now relatively up to speed.

“Sir Lancelot Du Loc, we request your assistance, on your honour as a knight of the king, you must promise to give it,” Enide announced formally. He shifted uncomfortably and ran a hand through his hair as if he was missing his helmet.

“I swear to give it, my lady- er- ladies.”

“Good, then I’ll cut to the heart of the matter. I need you to contact the Lady of the Lake and ask her to arm me and my companions as befits knights. You may not ask why.”

He blinked.

“Oh, that’s all? You don’t need me to kill anyone or sleep in a haunted place or follow an animal or anything? You just want to talk to my mom?”

Enide nodded.

“Okay, that- do you want to do that now?”

She nodded again, still surprised it was going to be this easy, and he slipped off one gauntlet, then a ring from his bare finger, replacing the glove as soon as he did so. He said something in a language that sounded like if French was set on the stove in a big cooking pot with a pinch of Latin and left to boil for a few thousand years. For a moment nothing happened, then a woman began to form next to him, first a hazy figure of mist from the dew on the ground which gradually solidified into a woman in a white dress. She was an elegant but surprisingly buff handsome older woman with a serene, kind face.

“Hi, mom,” Lancelot said awkwardly. She greeted her son and turned to the rest of them. Despite never seeing her before, they felt as if she recognized them, a feeling confirmed when she addressed them one by one, by name. Clarissant, Brangaine, Isolde, Elaine, Enide, no epithets or prefixes. 

Enide explained the situation, trying to stick to cold details but finding herself more open, as the Lady sat next to her son and leaned forward attentively to listen. When she had finished her spiel, with frequent and unhelpful interruptions by Clarissant, Isolde and Brangaine, the Lady was smiling.

“I will happily arm you, and wish you luck. There is a pond two miles north- not ideal but I will make it work- can you meet me there at dawn this morning?”

Enide agreed quickly to The Lady’s terms, and she rose, announced she had better get to work then, and disappeared after a parting embrace with her son, which he pretended to be embarrassed about.

They made a quick dinner of their rations, the preparation of which he and Clarissant were also banned from, and settled down to bedrolls, he a bit apart from the rest of the nearer the horses. And still in full armour.

“You’re planning to sleep in your armour?” 

“Um- yes?”

“Alright then,” Enide said, deciding for the twentieth time that the whims of knights were inscrutable and she refused to care about them. She rolled over under the thin blanket and ignored him, till the gentle sounds of the night put her to sleep.

She woke in the early half morning, when the sky was beginning to lighten but Dawn’s fingers were still tucked in the pockets of her nightdress. She spent a confused moment wondering why she was awake, till she heard the hushed voices that must have woken her.

Lancelot was sitting across the fire from Elaine. It had fallen to a dull grey pile of coals, which he was absently trying to revive with little success. Curiosity won out over the need to be heard, and Enide closed her eyes and lay still, listening to catch their words. A shameful task made more difficult by the fact Elaine could not speak louder than a raspy whisper, and he did not seem to want to. They were speaking French, and once she realized that and shifted her mental process, she could mostly understand.

He was telling a story, haltingly, about himself. Surprising enough, as he seemed reluctant even to give his name, let alone discuss his own deeds. But this was not a story of victory in combat or wonderous quests. The details weren’t clear.

It had a setting, that she could make out- Corbenic. It wasn’t far from here. And there was a time, though this was confusing, as there seemed to be two. First, he was fifteen, then seventeen. There was a woman, and her magic, and a bed, and a sudden wish that she wasn’t overhearing this conversation when it all suddenly came together.

Halfway between guilty and horrified, she waited for a lull in the conversation, and stirred as if coming out of sleep. She rose and wished them good morning, feigning surprise to see them already up, and beginning the morning tasks of preparing food and taking down the camp, so they could meet the Lady by dawn. Elaine approached her as Enide was readying the horses, out of earshot of the others, who were beginning to stir.

“I have a name,” she whispered, “for the list.”

Lady Enide fetched it from her saddlebag, as well as the pen and inkpot, which was half frozen over from the cold night.

Elaine’s handwriting was skittery, her gloved hands numb with the morning chill. She finished and returned the parchment to Enide, departing back to camp without another word.

Enide read it over- Eric, Tristan, Mark, Kahedin, Pellinore, Gromer Somer Jour, Malegaunt, Guiromelant, Pelleas, Agravaine maybe, and then a new name: Elaine Of Corbenic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at Corbenic in the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another warning for discussion of part rape, and some on screen violence

They were at the lakeshore a little after dawn, Enide having elected to wait to bring up the new name. There would be questions that none of them wanted to answer. 

“She'll be up in a minute, uh, she likes to make sort of a production out of it,” Lancelot explained apologetically. 

And she was, as he said, up in a minute, rising majestically from the water in a cloud of mist and spray, white garb glowing in the early morning sun. The image was only somewhat tarnished by the little wave she gave them, and the fact that she asked whether they had had breakfast first in a tone which indicated a negative answer would mean having to put the whole thing off further for them to do so. 

Vivian relented upon seeing their impatience, and began distributing weapons with rather less ceremony than she would prefer. Brangaine went first, receiving not a sword but a hefty crossbow, made of some kind of black wood. Clarissant was next, and for her Vivian had a handaxe, handle wrapped in blue leather. For Isolde two long, wicked daggers, all in silver and glinting with deadly mischief. For Elaine a shortsword, thin and quick looking to match her nervous, darting fingers.

And to Enide went an arming sword, long and bright and loud, glowing just slightly under the dawn's pink light.

“The dawn looks well on you, Enide,” The Lady said, as she took the blade from her, “It will never fail to strike true when the sun is just rising above the horizon.”

There was a hum to it, almost under her skin, as Enide touched it, the pink and orange reflecting and swirling on the clarity of its surface.

“Thank you, my Lady,” she breathed, though the thanks felt like barely enough. 

The Lady only smiled, “Think nothing of it, the blade was made for you.”

Stepping back, the mist already swirling back up around her, the Lady turned briefly to Lancelot and wished him well before disappearing under the surface, with nary a ripple.

“Bye,” Clarissant said, to the placid lake surface. It did not respond.

“So, is she still here or…?” Enide surveyed the lake surface.

Lancelot shrugged, “hard to tell honestly.”

“Right.” She made the executive decision to ride back to the road and convene there, and soon they were all standing in an awkward circle, which had ended up being more like an oval, but Enide would have to work with what she had.

“Alright, so firstly,” she paused, “Hey Lancelot can you go get- uh-”

“You can just ask for me to leave for a bit, it's okay.”

“Good, great, nothing personal. Ten minutes?”

He nodded and wandered off to find the horses and maybe take a nap.

“Is he just going to be here forever, then?” Isolde asked unhappily.

“What's wrong with that? My brother says that he-”

There was a chorus of groans, and Clarissant was cut off. She stuck her tongue out and was ignored as Enide pulled out the list from her satchel.

“One of our names is not far from here, and it's someone without a great deal of martial skill. This could be a good first attempt,” she announced, anticipating the question.

“Before you ask, her name is Elaine of Corbenic, she was added this morning. I can't tell you why she's on the list, Elaine suggested her.”

“What, you don't like when people have the same name as you?” Clarissant asked absently.

“Don't joke,” Elaine said, and Clarissant looked away, abashed by the earnest tone.

Brangaine frowned, “Excuse my rudeness, but if I'm gonna be acostin' this woman I'd like to at least know why, Lady Elaine.” 

“It's not mine to tell, Bran,” Elaine said, wilting slightly under the attention, and stepping closer to Isolde, who took her hand. The circle was now a wonky triangle.

“If Elaine wants her dead, I want her dead,” Isolde announced, and Brangaine winced.

“You're plannin' to kill her?” 

“She deserves it,” Elaine said, her voice weak but unhesitating.

“Good enough for me!” Clarissant said, and went off to find the ever-patient Lancelot. Brangaine still looked unconvinced. 

“You don't have to be part of it, Bran,” Enide said, hoping her conviction wouldt betray her knowledge to Elaine. 

Brangaine frowned, “I'll think about it. Well be doing it tomorrow mornin', right? I'll know by then.”

They reassembled, and rode along till midafternoon, when they could see the keep just looming in the distance. Lancelot had replaced his helmet, but he hadn't said a single word since that morning. 

“Let's stop here,” Enide said, noticing his reluctance to approach further. 

They began setting up camp, and Enide scouted out the area, setting a few traps for small game. 

She was kneeling at the foot of a tree setting a simple snare, when she heard the crunch of footsteps on the dry leaves behind her and a blade at her neck before she could rise.

“Don't turn around just yet,” A woman's voice came softly from behind her, “what are you doing here?”

Enide felt the hilt of her dawn sword in one hand, obscured under her cloak, and answered honestly, “killing ELaine of Corbenic. You?”

Instantly the cold force at her neck dropped away, and the woman chuckled, “killing Elaine of Corbenic.”

Enide rose slowly and turned. A slight, practically dressed woman was standing there, one hand on her hip the other loosely at her side wrapped around the handle of a knife.

“Your friends here for the same thing?”

Enide nodded, “one of them doesn't know, the rest do. He would be upset, I think.”

“He?” The woman paused and grinned, darting off in the direction of the camp, Enide running after her, still unsure whether to consider her an enemy.

She was not, it turned out, an enemy, at least as far as Lancelot was concerned. Enide reached camp just in time to see the woman run up to him, calling his name. In what Enide considered very unusual behaviour for him, Lancelot smiled, surprised but not chagrined.

“Hello, um-” he turned pink, “oh, God, I never learned your name. I'm so sorry my lady, I've just been calling you Malegaunt's sister-”

She waved a hand as if to show no offense was had, and turned to the rest, who were regarding the intruder with shock and suspicion. 

“My name is Cerice, I'm a friend ofSir Lancelot, here for the same reason you are.”

Lancelot blinked, “you're here to get a sword from my mom?” 

“Not exactly.”

He shrugged it off, used, at this point, to being confused. Enide took Cerice aside, and confirmed her good intentions, and they agreed to work together while everyone else made dinner. 

Brangaine was at the center of it, directing the competent- Isolde and Elaine- and trying to stop Lancelot and Clarissant from doing more damage than help.

“Clar, sweet, that's the water for washing up, don't-” she gestured for Isolde to fetch something from her bags, “bring the wood over here, no, over here,” She snapped a few times before turning her attention back to the fire, “ no, sir, here-!” she grabbed his arm and tugged, not roughly, to indicate the proper direction. But he only froze in place, a look of panic on his face. She quickly let him go, and he stumbled back a half step.

“Lancelot, I'm sorry, I-”

“It's fine I'm just- I'm- check the snares,” he stuttered out, half a whisper, before rushing off. She watched him retreat, looking somewhere between thoughtful and guilty, before returning to the preparations. 

They were completed without problems, and Lancelot wandered back in, having failed to check to snares. If he was looking a bit pale and shaky, no one mentioned it. The meal was had, all of them being careful to leave him his space, and by the time they were setting up bedrolls he was as confident as he normally was, which was not very, but it was nevertheless a marked improvement.

There were plans made to act in the morning, and they all went to their rest. 

It didn't last long for most of them. Enide found herself being tapped awake by Brangaine, who had a finger over her lips. No words were needed, as they woke Cerice, and found Elaine already awake. She kissed the still sleeping Isolde on her forehead, before they crept to the road and mounted horses. It was not till they were a good half mile away, Corbenic looming larger that any of them spoke.

“She is the lady of the castle, and will be well defended,” Cerice noted, “I was planning to sneak into the kitchens and drug the food the guards are given at the start of second watch, which begins at 3 in the morning.”

But Brangaine was shaking her head, “If you will excuse me my lady, I don't think you can blend in the kitchens as well as you think. I'll take on that, and you three can do your gruesome work.”

Cerice was mildly offended, but had to admit she was likely right, “very well. Then we will take the back stairs coming out of the north courtyard, they lead up to the private rooms of the family. I've been scouting this place for a while now.”

“And when we reach the private rooms?”

Elaine answered this question, “We kill the lady of Corbenic, and anyone who gets in our way.”

They left the horses a ways off and approached from the back, managing to slip Brangaine into the kitchens around midnight. Then the waiting began. Elaine was fiddling nervously with her bracelet from Igraine, and Enide was pacing, stifling under the need for quiet. Cerice stayed serene as they waited for the guard to change, nestled in the shadows of a drain.

They watched the men change places above the walls, watched the new men sink low onto the ground in artificial repose. Cerise led them into the courtyard and up a half-hidden set of stairs, stepping around the sleeping guard at the top as they stepped into the private chambers of the family.

They were odd, mostly empty and oddly still. They passed the main room where an old man lay asleep through an open doorway, but none of the other rooms seemed to be occupied.

Till they reached her room. It was fine, clearly better kept than the rest of the rooms. She was laying upon the wide bed, asleep. Curiously, there was a white shield resting against the foot of her bed, not merely discarded but placed there just so, as if she considered it very important.

“Seems unsporting, to ambush her when she's vulnerable,” Enide said quietly.

“Seems appropriate,” Cerice answered. Elaine was already stepping forward, her sword drawn, face inscrutable. Internally, Enide was praying ofr her to end it, before someone noticed the intrusion, the guards, and came to the aid of their mistress. Elaine put her blade up to the throat of Corbenic- then drew it back. She placed her other hand over the sleeping womans mouth, almost gently.

She came awake with a start, struggling against Elaine, but Cerice was already there, holding her down. Enide took her legs, half wondering what they were doing, half feeling the same vicious anger that led Elaine to sheath her sword and draw out a dagger, other hand still pushed down on the other Elaine's mouth. She leaned down to whisper in the woman's ear, whose eyes grew wide as she did, and began to thrash again. Cerice and Enide held fast, held fast still as Elaine forced open her mouth and cut out her tongue, for no other reason than to have both hands free. Next, now with both hands, she cut the Lady of Corbenic's golden hair at the base, tucking one lock into the pocket of her dress. 

Then she buried her knife into the woman's stomach, twisting it to open internal organs, and leaving it in as she stepped back, to avoid blood loss taking the noble lady too quickly. An assured death, but not a quick one.

“We can go now,” Elaine said plainly, as if she hadn't just- well, all of that. The woman had stopped struggling, only watched in horror, so Cerice and Ettard released her limp limbs, and they made their way quickly out, meeting Brangaine by in the courtyard. By now bells were ringing, and servants running about trying to wake guards, and they barely got out without detection, running to the horses and setting off at a Gallop, not slowing till they reached camp, and barely stopping then.

None of the three left behind were yet awake, the sun still being far off, but Enide woke them quickly, and they got camp down in record time, Clarissant's demands for an explanation being ignored. It was not till early morning, when Corbenic was far out of sight, that they stopped.

“Are we finally gonna find out what that was about? I thought we were going to that castle?” Clarissant demanded, oblivious to the mood.

“Change of plans, Clar,” Enide said. Isolde did not ask, but her ever clever gaze had already spotted the drops of blood on Elaine, and her gaze was questioning.

“Alright love?” She asked softly, taking Elaine aside.

She nodded, “not mine.”

“I assumed.”

Elaine pressed a kiss to Isolde's cheek, and stepped back, giving her a small, reassuring smile. Then she left to find Lancelot.

He was sitting cross legged on the ground, fiddling with the strap on a pauldron that seemed to be wearing thin, mostly unaware of his surroundings.

“Sir Lancelot,” She said, and waited patiently for him to realize she was there. After a few moments, he looked up.

“Lady Elaine, I- I meant to ask, would you be upset if I took my leave of you all? If you have no further need of me, that is?”

She shook her head, and he looked relieved, giving up on the strap and rising to his feet. She held out a hand to stop him, staying a few inches from touching him. He stopped, watching curiously as she reached into her pocket. 

Elaine drew out a letter, fingertips brushing against the hair and leaving it, handing the paper to a confused Lancelot.

“The nunnery mentioned here. You should go there, soon.”

He nodded, still not understanding. That was alright, he would soon. She stepped back, smiling.

“Goodbye, Sir Lancelot,” Elaine began to walk away, stopped, and said over her shoulder, “The lady of Corbenic is dead. I asked. I hope that brings you some comfort.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> uwu
> 
> its what they deserve


End file.
